Totoka River we grew under a bad sun

caw is anticipating a response, and her refusal to indulge his curiosity makes his scruff bristle indignantly. “answer!” he repeats, even more insistently this time, and as he crowds yet closer, unfazed by the disinterest in her tone, she lunges forwards.
 
he barely has the time to lift his ears before there are teeth on his throat. avis launches off his back with a sharp caw as the woman shoves him backwards, with none of the posturing he has long ago come to expect and that he often indulges in himself. he does not yelp; he is thrown back in silence, and the thrill of it rises bright in his blood, even as he snaps at the side of her face and ears.
 
she forces him to the ground, and he goes with it only because though he does not fear death he is not overly interested in having it come so soon. his back hits the ground with a painful thud that races up his spine; jaws parted, now thoroughly useless, he pants, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, ears held forth and tail splayed across the snow.
 
behind him, avis clacks her beak and gives a long string of sharp, rattling caws, interspersed with the sound of rustling feathers. caw recognizes it as warning, though certainly this wolf will not.
 
“want to know!” caw grumps, snapping uselessly at the air above her ears as he squirms, attempting to get himself free without tearing his throat too badly. fighting is one thing he enjoys; being pinned is not. “not good. mitto!”